


Insecurity

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [12]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: Please don’t notice, Harry keeps thinking like a mantra every time Roman looks Evan’s way, because even he knowsPlease pick meis hoping for too much.





	

Harry wakes up alone, which is pretty typical, but sucks in comparison to the alternative, which is Evan cuddled up to his back, warm and sleepy. He deals with a split second of concern that Evan went back to his own bed, or booked it entirely, but the shower’s running, which is pretty clearly where he went. Harry picks up his phone, turning off the alarm that’s set to go off in three minutes. His mind wanders off to Evan in the shower, wondering if he’s jerking off in there. Wondering if he’s thinking about last night as he’s doing it. He was hard, so it’s not like, a stretch.

Harry pinches his thigh to cut that train of thought off before it gets any more steam, opens his text string with Annie. _So Evan and I kind of made out last night_ , he types, unable to keep from smiling as he sends it.

The water cuts off, and Harry swallows. He has the sudden frightened urge to pretend he’s sleeping, but that’s ridiculous, so instead he tries to recline as naturally as possible against the headboard, which is also kind of ridiculous, but what’s new. Harry’s felt ridiculous a lot lately. Right now he doesn’t mind it too much.

Evan comes out in one of the hotel towels, which Harry knows are not actually as tiny as he makes them look, and Harry’s thrown forcefully back into like, the day he figured out that he might be totally in over his head, except this time he looks at Evan’s mouth and thinks _I kissed that_ instead of _I want to kiss that_. Well, maybe ‘and’, not ‘instead’, because he definitely still wants to.

“Morning,” Harry says, trying for casual and not getting even close.

“Um, good morning,” Evan says, then goes, like, brilliantly red. Harry’s seen Evan blush a _lot_ , but it’s nothing compared to this, especially because he can see it crawling down his bare chest like a fever. “Shower’s free,” Evan adds, and Harry yanks his eyes back up to Evan’s, which are focused somewhere maybe six feet to the right of Harry. 

“Right,” Harry says. “Thanks.”

He takes a change of clothes and his phone with him into the bathroom, aware he looks like a loser, but also 100% not willing to leave his phone where Evan could see whatever Annie sends. Not that Evan’s the kind of guy who’d look at someone’s phone, like, at all, but Harry knows if he leaves it out there he’ll be paranoid the whole time. He’s equally reluctant to change in front of Evan right now, which, again, ridiculous, Harry, you change in front of him literally on a daily basis, but. It feels a little more loaded after you’ve felt a guy’s dick against you. Kind of less businesslike, more foreplay-like. 

Harry showers fast, resisting the temptation to jerk off, which is _really hard_ , pun absolutely not intended, puns are the lowest form of humor and also Harry turned the water on cold to ensure that was not the case and also suffer. 

_!!!!!!!!!!!!_ , Annie’s sent by the time he’s dressed, along with, _Tell me everything. But PG rated._

_it was pretty pg rated honestly_ , Harry replies. _I’ll tell you more after I talk to him and figure out what the hell’s going on_

_Good luck soldier!_ Annie sends.

There’s enough time before breakfast to get that talk out of the way, at least Harry thinks so until he comes out of the bathroom to find Evan already gone, which — ouch. He takes his time getting ready after that, even uses the blowdryer instead of letting his hair naturally dry in that impossible nest of curls he doesn’t generally bother fighting, because point taken, and if Evan wants to avoid him, the last thing Harry’s going to do is hurry down to awkwardly run into him in the lobby or something. 

Evan’s sitting with Victor and Berg when Harry gets down there, goes almost as red as he did before when he sees Harry, like a neon sign to everyone ‘Harry and I totally made out’, though Harry seems to be the only one who notices. He doesn’t avoid his eyes again, though, shoots him this small, sweet smile that says that maybe Harry hasn’t fucked everything up. Harry hopes it does, at least.

Harry gives him a smile back, though it feels more like a grimace, then goes to sit with Patty, who grunts at him in greeting then goes back to dozing over his eggs.

*

Evan’s more normal in practice, at least able to play opposite wing to Harry in a scrimmage without going red as Harry’s hair every time he looks over, though it’s hard to tell under the exertion flush he gets, all pretty pink instead of what Harry gets, which looks like he’s got a damn rash at the end of every shift. 

_Stop looking at his pretty pink flush_ , Harry tells himself after the second time he whiffs on a pass. _You’re stronger than this_.

Sadly, he really, really isn’t, and at the end of practice Coach has a few choice words for him, ending with the cliched ‘get your head in the game’.

They fly to Kansas City that afternoon, and Harry tries not to stare at Evan’s blond head three rows away, elbowing Patty in the ribs when he starts to snore beside him. He’s kind of afraid that once they get to the hotel Evan will go hide with Victor and Berg like he did at breakfast, but he follows Harry up, and Harry sits at the edge of his bed, watching Evan crouched over his suitcase, fiddling like he’s looking for something important instead of just avoiding Harry’s eyes.

“Can we talk about last night?” Harry asks, and Evan’s head snaps up like he’s shocked.

“Um,” he says. “You want to?”

“Clearly,” Harry says, unable to bite the sarcasm back in time. “I mean, I brought it up, so,” he adds awkwardly. “I thought we could talk about it before breakfast but you kind of booked it, so.”

“I didn’t want it to be awkward,” Evan mumbles.

“It isn’t?” Harry says, though actually it kind of is. “Like, not for me, but if you feel awkward—”

“Sorry,” Evan says. “I didn’t mean to — I don’t want it to be awkward.”

“Yeah, me either,” Harry says. “I mean, we share a room, we can’t like, avoid each other.”

Evan rubs the back of his neck, staring at the floor. “Sorry,” he mumbles again.

“Dude, you have to stop apologizing all the time,” Harry says, and when Evan opens his mouth. “If you say sorry for saying sorry, I swear to God, Evan.”

“Okay,” he says. “Sor—”

“Connelly!” Harry says, and Evan laughs a little. 

“Look,” Harry says. “If I pressured you into something you didn’t want to do —”

“You didn’t,” Evan says quickly.

“Good,” Harry says. “Awesome. We’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, Harry,” Evan says, and something stupid and soft in Harry really likes the way his name sounds in Evan’s mouth.

“Cool,” Harry says. “So.” Evan’s still looking at him, which feels like a lot, suddenly. “If that was something you wanted to do again, um. I’d be cool with that.”

“Um,” Evan says. “Do you mean now, or—”

“Whenever, seriously,” Harry says. “Do you, um. You wanna?”

“Okay,” Evan says, so soft Harry can barely hear him, and when Harry sits on the edge of Evan’s bed, reaching a hand out to touch Evan’s cheek, he’s trembling a little under Harry’s fingers.

“Hey,” Harry says. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Evan whispers, and when Harry kisses him, there’s only a split second of hesitation before he kisses Harry back.

“We’ve got dinner,” Evan mumbles against Harry’s mouth some indeterminate amount of time later, one Harry can only measure by how tender his lips feel and the state of his dick, which are ‘kind of’ and ‘interested but it’s not urgent’, which means it hasn’t been all that long.

Harry can not overstate how few fucks he gives about dinner right now, but he knows there is no way Evan would be cool skipping it, so he reluctantly pulls back, can’t help rubbing his thumb over Evan’s bottom lip, which is shiny wet and red and would look so fucking good around his —

_Dinner!_ Harry thinks desperately before he can give into the urge to drag Evan back in, and Evan gives him a questioning look, which has Harry briefly concerned he’s psychic and wondering why Harry’s so passionate about food before he realizes it’s probably because Harry’s been staring at his mouth for a ridiculous length of time. 

“Your lips are really red,” Harry says dumbly.

“Oh,” Evan says. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth like that would help in the slightest, and instead of thinking that’s stupid, Harry finds it adorable. 

Harry is _so_ fucked here.

*

Harry’s kind of there at dinner, but also not there at all. He is sitting at a table, he is putting food in his mouth, so he’s there, but he couldn’t tell you what anyone’s talking about if you put a gun to his head, and while he thinks his salmon might be underseasoned, he wouldn’t bet on it or anything, because he barely tastes anything, every spare atom in him going towards thinking about what might come after dinner.

“—Spoilsport,” he hears, followed by an elbow to his ribs. “Right?”

Harry tears his eyes away from watching the bob of Evan’s throat as he takes a sip of water. “Whatever,” he says, because that seems like the safest option.

Victor gives him a weird look, so it was probably something Harry would be offended by if he was actually listening. He stands by whatever. Outrage is way beyond him today.

Everyone splits up to do their own thing after dinner, which in Harry’s case is meet Evan’s eye, take heart at the way he colors, and then cross his fingers the whole elevator ride that Evan’s coming and might be amenable to maybe continuing where they left off. Evan gets back to the room almost as soon as Harry’s shucked his jacket, so: finger crossing success. 

“Want to watch something?” Harry asks. “I’ve got some movies on my laptop.”

Evan frowns.

“Legally downloaded, boy scout,” Harry says, unable to avoid laughing. “Your pick.”

Evan picks one Harry’s already watched, which is not actually a problem considering Harry has zero faith in his ability to follow an actual plotline with Evan sitting beside him on the bed.

“You’re looking at me,” Evan says, less than half an hour into the movie. Harry doesn’t think he’s been even remotely subtle about it, so either Evan was slow to catch on or too polite to mention it. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, and when Evan turns to look at him, he kisses him. 

“The movie — ?” Evan says after a few minutes, with reluctance Harry hopes he’s not just imagining.

“I’ve uh, seen it,” Harry says. 

“You could have said,” Evan says. “I would have picked something else.”

“I don’t actually mind?” Harry says. “Like, at all.”

Evan’s got that flush again, crawling down his throat, and his neck is hot under Harry’s mouth when he ducks his head to taste it. He’s officially addicted to the breathy little sound that comes out of Evan’s mouth when he does, so soft he might not even realize he’s made it, and he’s almost sad when Evan pulls him up to kiss him because it means he can’t hear it again, but that’s a price he’s willing to pay for Evan’s mouth.

Eventually the bad angle his neck’s at is painful enough that Harry’s forced to move, and the only direction he wants to go is down, pulling Evan with him until he’s half on top of Harry, braced on his elbows, straddling Harry’s thigh. Air becomes a problem too, and Harry pulls away, peppering kisses up Evan’s jaw and tugging on his ear with his teeth, which earns a shiver and that fucking perfect sound again. Harry thinks that’s more than enough incentive to do it again, and this time Evan’s hips hitch against Harry’s thigh. Harry gets his hands on that perfect, perfect ass, pushing his thigh forward to give him something to grind against, which he does for maybe ten seconds before he jerks away, flushed and breathless. His eyes are all dark pupil surrounded by the barest sliver of blue, face pink and mouth red, and Harry stares at him and can’t help but think he’s the prettiest sight Harry’s ever seen.

“I,” Evan says. “Washroom.”, which is pretty blatantly code for ‘I’m going to go jerk off right now’.

_I really don’t mind helping you out with that_ , Harry bites back, along with _Please let me watch_ , because if Evan was okay with that, he’d be sticking around.

“Okay,” Harry says, then because his mental filter is tired from all the censoring it’s already done, “Enjoy.”

Evan laughs, this self-conscious, giddy little thing that Harry wants to hear all the time.

_Oh my God,_ Harry thinks, staring at the ceiling, that overwhelmingly happy feeling completely overtaking him until his dick gets really annoyed that he’s ignoring it. Harry considers whether he can jerk off by the time Evan comes out, then thinks _Fuck it_ and unbuttons his pants. It isn’t even a contest, in the end, since he makes it like ten strokes before he’s coming in his hand, picturing Evan’s hand tight on his own dick, getting off because of Harry. It’s not quite as good as Harry actually getting him off, but don’t think Harry’s complaining, because he really, really isn’t. 

Evan comes out of the bathroom after Harry’s gotten off and hidden the Kleenex evidence in the garbage, stands in the doorway, flushed and shy looking, until Harry says, “We finishing the movie or what?” 

“If you don’t mind,” Evan says, and Harry emphatically doesn’t, especially the way Evan’s arm overlaps his, body a long line of warmth pressed against his side.

“Can I—?” Harry asks about twenty minutes in, threading his fingers through Evan’s tentatively, and smiles stupidly at his laptop screen when Evan squeezes his hand in answer.

*

The rest of their trip is basically a whirlwind of really, really awesome make outs and more bomb-ass handholding — yes Harry knows how high school that sounds, no he’s not taking it back — and a lot of shit Harry doesn’t care about. And hockey, of course. Even Evan Fucking Connelly can’t distract Harry from that, make him any less in love with that first moment he steps onto the ice and any less invested in all the moments that follow. Small favors, because his ass would be scratched posthaste if he was playing hockey like he’s doing everything else, constantly distracted by Evan’s proximity. 

The only thing that stands out from the ‘non-hockey or Evan and therefore currently irrelevant’ rest of Harry’s day-to-day is the fact that Roman continues to do the fox in the henhouse look whenever he’s in Evan’s vicinity. Harry was pretty sure nothing could fuck with his recent equanimity — Evan told him Victor was complaining it wasn’t even _fun_ to bug Harry lately, which, suck it Kjeldsen — but it turns out Roman is a glaring exception. Harry can _feel_ him looking, the way you can feel someone’s eyes on you, though it’s always Evan he’s looking at, and the looks are so intense and undeniable, so much like a physical manifestation of exactly what Harry’s feeling right now it’s uncomfortable, makes his stomach twist. It doesn’t help that every time Harry catches him at it he’s just waiting for Evan to see that look and realize that the giant torch he’s been carrying has suddenly gotten lit at both ends, and shove Harry out of his way to go run off into the sunset with the slab of sentient muscle and ridiculous jokes they call an enforcer.

_Please don’t notice_ , Harry keeps thinking like a mantra every time Roman looks Evan’s way, because even he knows _Please pick me_ is hoping for too much.

*

_You figure out what’s up with you and Evan yet?_ Annie texts him on the last day of their trip, impatient with his radio silence. _Deets please. My day was boring I need secondhand drama._

_we’re too busy making out_ , Harry replies.

_Thank you for pretending it’s still PG for my delicate sensibilities_ , Annie sends him.

_still actually is tho_ , Harry texts back. _pg-13 max._

The _Huh_ he receives in return feels…ominous.

It’s not that Harry has a problem with taking it slow. He didn’t even have sex with his first girlfriend until they were together for over a year, though, like, admittedly that was in high school, which is a little different. Though this feels pretty high school too, not just the making out but the fact that Harry gets fucking exhilarated just lacing his fingers with Evan’s, gets hair-trigger hard just from getting his hands on Evan’s ass, the way he can’t stop _thinking_ about him, and not all the really filthy things he wants to do to him and that amazing ass — or okay, not _just_ that — but also that self-conscious laugh that honestly can’t be described as anything but a giggle, and whether or not the smiles that show his teeth or the close-lipped shy ones are better — tie, both amazing — or the way his pants stretch over — okay, Harry thinks a lot about his ass. Who could blame him. No one sane. Even Annie’s commented on it, and she’s a lesbian, _Harold_ , something she still says constantly because she is of the mistaken impression that she’s funny.

They close out their final game with an OT loss, which is not half bad considering the tear Detroit’s been on, and what’s supposed to be a post-game flight home is trashed by snow and high winds forming a whole cocktail of no, so it’s back to the hotel. Harry’s kind of grateful for another night sharing a room with Evan, though he feels guilty about it, especially since he can’t quite bite the feeling down even when he’s texting Siobhan to let her know he won’t be home tomorrow morning when she’s supposed to drop Beau off. 

No one’s going out tonight, between the snow and the loss and the fact that they’re probably catching a flight early tomorrow morning, and that means, in Harry’s new normal, he has his tongue in Evan’s mouth and his hands on his ass before the stroke of midnight. Cinder-fucking-ella indeed.

Harry can’t help remembering Annie’s _huh_ and thinking maybe letting Evan set the pace for everything is not the best idea — not like, not paying attention to what he wants, because obviously that’s not just the best but the only right thing to do, but making it fall on Evan when the hesitant way he goes about everything other than hockey might mean he’s not comfortable making the first move, and that he assumes Harry’s going to, considering Harry’s done it, oh, every time. With that in mind, when Evan presses hard and hot against his hip, Harry moves to cup him through his suit pants.

Harry suddenly regrets that whole Cinderella tangent — and forgetting the turning into a pumpkin part — when Evan pulls back, and not just a little, but putting like three whole feet of space between them.

“Um,” Harry says. “Should I not have—”

“No, sorry,” Evan says, because of course he apologizes when someone touches his dick without an okay first. Of course he does.

“No, I am,” Harry says, “If that wasn’t okay, or—”

“It just feels weird?” Evan says.

Harry’s stomach clenches. “Weird how?” he asks.

“Just,” Evan says, sounding uncomfortable, and Harry waits for some ‘you’re fine to make out with but I don’t want to have _sex_ with you’, or ‘I’m saving myself for Roman, obviously’.

“Spit it out,” Harry says, sharper than he means to.

“Anyone could come by,” Evan says. “And management has a spare key for all the rooms, and. You know.”

“Pretty sure those keys are for someone sleeping through the bus pick-up,” Harry says. “Or like, an emergency.”

Evan shrugs a little sheepishly.

“There’s a deadbolt, you know,” Harry says, but Evan doesn’t look mollified by that.

“It’s not me though, right?” Harry asks, because ‘I’m paranoid someone will catch us with our pants down’ is way better than ‘you repulse me’ as far as reasons not to go past making out go. 

Evan shakes his head. “I know I’m being ridiculous,” he says.

“You’re not,” Harry says. Maybe a little, but he also gets legitimately panicked about the prospect of being late to anything, late somehow including five minutes early, which Harry’s learned firsthand since sharing a room with him, and he keeps a physical copy of his nutrition plan and checks it before eating even though Harry is 99% sure he’s memorized it, so Evan being paranoid about this is not exactly shocking.

“So you’d be cool with, you know,” Harry says, and Evan flushes but nods.

“You um, want to come hang out at my place?” Harry asks. “Maybe like, come for dinner tomorrow if we manage to get out of here?” Because ‘please follow me to my place the second we touch tarmac so I can suck your dick’ sounds desperate. “Beau’d love to see you.” 

Beau will _not_ love getting shut out of Harry’s room if things go well, but Beau can deal.

“I’d love to see him,” Evan says.

“So yeah?” Harry asks.

Evan nods.

“Cool,” Harry says, nodding decisively. “I’m going to go jerk off now.”

“Harry!” Evan says, and that ridiculous, adorable laugh follows Harry into the bathroom.

Evan’s got this hectic flush on his cheeks when Harry leaves the bathroom, the kind that says Harry making sure to take his time was probably a good plan, because it’d be a dick move to interrupt Evan, even if the idea of walking out to see Evan with a hand tight around his dick is like — Harry just jerked off, he should not be this damn thirsty. 

“Hey, this is going to sound really stupid,” Harry says, and Evan looks over at him. “But can we like, cuddle right now?” Just because their orgasms were separate doesn’t mean Harry’s not feeling the afterglow, and he’s always been touchy after. He’d use a movie as an excuse, but considering their probable wake up time, Evan won’t go for one, and Harry just wants to touch him right now. 

“That doesn’t sound stupid,” Evan says, then gives him that shy little smile. 

_You’re so sweet I’m going to die of it_ , Harry thinks helplessly and is so, so grateful it doesn’t leave his mouth.


End file.
